Starfire (Peaches Monroe #3)(78)
Author: Mimi Strong

I pulled out my phone and looked over the last messages from Adrian. We hadn’t spoken since our walk around the pond on Monday. I composed a dozen messages, but couldn’t hit the send button.

Shayla grabbed my phone from my hands and tossed in in my purse. “Busted,” she said.

“Fine, I’ll cover the tip,” I said.

Mitchell raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “I get it! That’s a good trick. I should use that on my friends. They’re always texting when we hang out.” He chuckled. “They should be punished.”

Shayla waggled her eyebrows. “You always hurt the ones you love.”

“Aw, I miss you guys already,” Mitchell said. “I’ll have to catch a lift up in Dalton’s plane next time he comes to Washington.”

Shayla leaned over and kissed him on the side of the cheek. “I always want what I can’t have. Mitchell, are you sure you don’t have a straight side? We could get married.”

“Double wedding?” I offered. “We’ve got plenty of food.”

Mitchell laughed, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, or maybe happiness.

~

We finished breakfast, and stepped out into the sunshine.

The sun glinted off an approaching convertible, cherry red, with the top down. At the wheel was Dottie Simpkins, a scarf wrapped around her pale pink hair. Sitting next to her was my neighbor, Mr. Galloway, waving to me. A rust-colored labradoodle sat in the back seat.

“Hello, Dottie! Hello, Mr. Galloway!” I called out, waving back.

Mitchell snorted with laughter. “I love this town.”

“We don’t all know each other,” Shayla said. “But sometimes it does feel like we’re the charming extras and backdrop to someone else’s movie.”

“That’s why Dalton was here filming,” Mitchell said.

Shayla got a grumpy look as we started walking down the street toward the seamstress.

After a few minutes of silence, Shayla said, “I’m trying to be a good sport about Dalton swooping in here and taking away the best thing about this town.”

“I can’t be your roommate forever,” I said.

She muttered something I couldn’t hear.

“Listen, I’m nervous, too,” I said. “I’ve never had a real relationship with a guy. Dalton is the first guy I’ve even slept with more than ten times.”

Mitchell snorted, then said, “Wait, sorry. You’re serious? You’ve never been in love before?”

I stopped walking and rubbed my stomach. We were still a few blocks from the seamstress. “I feel weird. Too much bacon. Everything’s jumping around inside me.”

Mitchell fixed me with a serious stare. “Peaches. That fluttering is love, not bacon.”

“Are you sure? It feels like bacon. Does love feel like bacon?”

Shayla nodded in agreement with Mitchell. “You usually eat all your bacon and some of mine, but you hardly touched your breakfast. The fluttering must be love.”

“I wish Dalton was better at expressing his feelings,” I said. “Then I could be sure.”

She grabbed my hand and shook it in the air between us. “Maybe if you wore your engagement ring, you’d be more sure. Stop being such a weirdo and let yourself fall. If I can let you go with a smile on my face, you’d better smile, too.”

“Oh, Shayla.” I stared into her golden brown eyes, glowing like embers. “Shit! I forgot to buy you fancy cheese! When I was in San Francisco. I’m a terrible friend. I’m going to be a terrible wife.”

“I don’t care about cheese,” she said. “I care about you, because you’re not a terrible friend. You’re a great friend.”

“I’ll still be a terrible wife.”

“Probably,” she said, smirking. “But neither of us was the best at friends before we started hanging out. I remember calling you names because you wouldn’t go in the lake when it was full of tadpoles.”

“You were kind of a dick about it,” I said. “And when you were fourteen and hormonal, I thought it was over. I was pretty sure one of us might kill the other, but I hung in there.”

“We learned to be friends, together,” she said.

“I guess.”

“You’ll be a good wife. You’ll screw up plenty, but you’ll get the hang of it, eventually.”

Mitchell gave me a sweet smile of encouragement. “I think you’ll be amazing, right from day one, but I’m a better friend than Shayla.”

She laughed and pretended to push him over.

“Thanks for the pep talk, guys.”

Mitchell started jogging down the street. “Enough mush! We need to get fitted.”

Shayla grabbed my hand and tugged me toward our destination.

~

The dress designer, Nancy, had sent one of her own seamstresses up to do the final fitting and adjustments of the gown I chose. The woman was tall, thin, and familiar-looking. It turned out she was the sister of Gwendolyn, one of the assistants I’d met in LA. Her name was Ginnifer with a G.

“We’re ahead of schedule,” Ginnifer said. “Even if you’ve changed three sizes, we’ll be able to make the alterations, but by the look of you, you’re as perfect as the day you were first measured up.” She laughed. “Less than two weeks ago.”

Shayla and Mitchell went off with the other assistants, and I followed Ginnifer to the back room, so nobody else would see the dress ahead of time.

Everything appeared to be falling into place.

Standing next to me at the altar on Saturday would be Shayla, of course, and Mitchell. We’d already chosen a pale gray as our bridal party color, and Mitchell would look dashing in his gray suit with a pink tie. Shayla’s gray dress had a pink highlight across the bust. If I didn’t love my custom gown so much, I would have wanted to wear Shayla’s dress.

According to Vern, Dalton had expanded his side to include his cousin, Connor. His other attendant was his friend, Alexis. I hadn’t been a big fan of Alexis since she sold photos of me in my underwear to the tabloids, but she was like a sister to Dalton, so I would just try to get over bad first impressions. I had sprayed her with a garden hose on my front lawn, so we’d both done regrettable things.

“I love your curves,” Ginnifer said as I wriggled into the slip I’d be wearing under the dress.

I laughed. “Oh, please. You’re tall and slim, and you could probably model these gowns.”